<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Midway by bizzybee</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23397049">Midway</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bizzybee/pseuds/bizzybee'>bizzybee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Requests [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Chore Duty, F/F, Fluff, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), hildagrid, homoerotic rivalry but only one person thinks its a rivalry, the other person is just gay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:41:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,015</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23397049</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bizzybee/pseuds/bizzybee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <i>"As she pulls herself to her feet and dusts herself off, Ingrid says, 'Just so you know, nobody who matters will think less of you if you fail at something. But that means you have to actually try.'" </i><br/></p>
</blockquote>--<br/>Hilda hates working.<p>She especially hates working with Ingrid. Infuriating, annoying, sees-straight-through-Hilda's-walls Ingrid.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Hilda Valentine Goneril</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Requests [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835620</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Midway</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was requested by anonymous! Hildagrid rights! I had so much fun writing these two. </p><p>Thanks for the request!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Aw, shit, Ingrid again?" Hilda complains, staring at the chore chart. Byleth gives her a look before exiting the room, allowing the other students to crowd around it. </p><p>"What's wrong with being paired with me?" Hilda turns to see Ingrid, standing with her arms crossed, eyebrows raised. </p><p>"You make me work," Hilda quips. Ingrid rolls her eyes.</p><p>Ever since Ingrid had transferred into her class, she's gotten on Hilda's last nerves. Immune to her charms, Ingrid refuses to help Hilda with just about anything, and it’s infuriating. Even worse, Ingrid gets on smashingly with the rest of the class. It pisses Hilda off to no extent. </p><p>But worst of all, if it weren't for Ingrid’s annoying guilelessness and ability to see right through Hilda’s walls, Hilda would <em> like </em> her. </p><p>She fucking hates it. </p>
<hr/><p>She especially hates it, Hilda thinks, when she's ankle deep in hay and horse shit, brushing a curry comb through one of the Academy horse's flanks. She doesn't know how Ingrid can look so damn happy, standing there with dirt on her face and straw in her hair, tunic falling open to the third button and blonde eyelashes becoming transparent in the soft afternoon light flowing through the windows, her eyes so fucking green and round and-</p><p>"Why are you looking at me like that?" Ingrid asks, brow scrunched. Hilda pulls her gaze away. </p><p>"I'm not. I'm looking at the horse. I'm done. She looks amazing.”</p><p>Ingrid walks over, circling the horse and inspecting its flank. "You didn't even touch the left side." </p><p>"Ugh," Hilda groans, throwing her arms into the air. "I don't know how, Ingrid. Can't you just do it? You're so much better at this than me." An unneeded compliment, but a true one, Hilda has to admit. Ingrid has untacked three horses in the time it’s taken Hilda to get halfway through one. </p><p>But Ingrid looks at her, steely-eyed. "Nope. You can do this, Hilda.”</p><p>Hilda frowns. "I hate you, you know that?" </p><p>"Yeah, yeah. I know." </p><p>But Hilda doesn't miss Ingrid's smile, her flushed cheeks hidden by blonde hair as she turns away. </p>
<hr/><p>Hilda may be a terrible cook, but it's clear mere minutes into kitchen duty that Ingrid is even worse. She confuses green onions with celery, peaches with pomegranates, and, in a feat even Hilda wouldn't have expected, salt with chemical cleaning powder. Hilda none too gently wrenches it out of Ingrid's grasp before she can poison the entire dining hall, and Ingrid turns to her with a glare.</p><p>Hilda merely points at the label, pursing her lips and nodding as if to say <em> told you so. </em> </p><p>"Told you so," she says anyway, because simply implying it is never enough. </p><p>Ingrid doesn't quip back, as Hilda was expecting, but merely shrugs sheepishly. "I'm a terrible cook."</p><p>Hilda rolls her eyes. "Here, let me." She steps between Ingrid and the pan and sets the cleaning powder far, <em> far </em> out of Ingrid's reach. "Just watch. It's like this." </p><p>As she rolls the skewers in their seasoning; however, she doesn't think Ingrid is watching her work. In fact, Hilda can feel Ingrid's gaze trained on her. </p><p>And she hates it. She hates how it almost makes her hands slip, how she has to stop herself from reaching for that same cleaning powder. Goddess, she grumbles to herself. Why the fuck is the packaging so similar, anyway?</p><p>She snaps a skewer in half by gripping it too hard. </p><p>That's it. </p><p>No more working with Ingrid Brandl Fucking Galatea. </p>
<hr/><p>Hilda thinks she's about ready to confront Professor Byleth about this the next week, when she's stuck in the warm summer sun, sitting cross-legged and halfheartedly pulling grass out of the Monastery lawn while Ingrid picks weeds a few meters away from her. </p><p>"Hilda," Ingrid calls. "Come on."</p><p>"I'm taking a break," Hilda sticks her nose in the air, and she can practically feel Ingrid's glare from where she sits. </p><p>She's expecting Ingrid to yell at her some more, or maybe just get up and walk away, but instead she stands, dusting herself off. Walks over to Hilda and collapses on the ground next to her. Lays back and shields the sun from her eyes with one hand as she gazes up at her. </p><p>"Fine," Ingrid says. "Then I'm taking a break, too." </p><p>"Fine." </p><p>They sit in silence.</p><p>Ingrid yawns. </p><p>"Don't go falling asleep on me, now," Hilda chides. </p><p>Ingrid snorts. </p><p>More silence.</p><p>When Ingrid speaks again, Hilda's not expecting what she says. </p><p>"So why don't you ever want to work, anyway?" Hilda can feel Ingrid's gaze boring into the back of her head. "And don't pretend you're too weak. I've seen you on that wyvern of yours." </p><p>"What's it to you?" Hilda snaps. </p><p>"Just asking," Ingrid mumbles, then sighs. She pushes herself back into a sitting position. "I'm gonna get back to work." </p><p>As she pulls herself to her feet and dusts herself off, Ingrid says, "Just so you know, nobody who matters will think less of you if you fail at something. But that means you have to actually try." </p><p>Hilda blinks. She watches as Ingrid kneels and begins pulling weeds again. </p><p>Well, shit.</p><p>Hilda pulls herself to her feet, grumbling all the way, and kneels next to Ingrid. Ingrid’s hands are already messed up, with dirt caked under her short nails, working its way into the creases on her knuckles. Hilda hates getting her hands dirty. </p><p>But she does anyway, focusing on the smaller weeds and pulling them out of the ground with as few fingers as she can. </p><p>“Don’t just leave the big ones for me,” Ingrid says, but Hilda can hear the smile in her voice. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, Ingrid. Take the win.” </p><p>And if their hands brush together a few times as they reach for the same weed, it doesn’t mean anything, Hilda tells herself. </p><p>If her skin burns and her heart pounds when Ingrid grasps her wrist to keep her from picking an actually useful plant, it doesn’t mean anything. </p><p>If, later, when she’s scrubbing off her hands in her washbasin, she imagines Ingrid doing the same thing in her room, imagines what it would be like to feel those hands holding hers, or cupping her face, or how they’d feel pulling her hair out of its ponytails, it doesn’t mean anything. </p><p>Nothing at all. </p>
<hr/><p>The next week, Hilda’s paired with Ignatz. When the chore board is posted, Hilda frowns. </p><p>“Guess you’re finally getting rid of me, huh?” Hilda turns to see Ingrid, a small, sad smile on her face. </p><p>“Aw, Ingrid. You’re not so bad,” Hilda winks. “Chore time’s almost fun when I’m doing it with you.”</p><p>Hilda’s quite pleased to see how flustered Ingrid gets at this, face going pink all the way to her ears and eyes freezing. </p><p>Hilda walks over, patting Ingrid’s cheek with one hand. “Lighten up, sweetie. You’re paired with Annette this week. She’ll work for ya.” </p><p>“You work for me,” Ingrid blurts, and Hilda grins. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you in the dirt if we weren’t in battle.”</p><p>“Only for you, Ingrid.” Hilda sighs dramatically, removing her hand from Ingrid’s face to cover her own forehead. “Only for you.”</p>
<hr/><p>Hilda doesn’t question it when Ingrid starts sitting next to her in the dining hall. Nor when she starts sitting next to her in classes. Nor when she starts walking her to and from events. She thinks she likes it, even though they barely get the chance to talk on their own. </p><p>She even thinks she prefers Ingrid making her work, she thinks, as she lays on the grass while Ignatz dutifully picks all the weeds in the Western courtyard. She’s never felt restless before, and she doesn’t think she’s restless, now, but she feels… something. </p><p>She doesn’t know if she likes it. </p><p>What she does know, though, is that she misses Ingrid. </p><p>She really, truly, does not know what to make of that. </p>
<hr/><p>“So I talked to Teach for you,” Claude says by way of greeting. He takes a seat across from Hilda in the dining hall and leans across the table on his elbows. “You and your lady love are gonna be working on flying duty next week.” He winks. “No need to thank me. Unless, you know, you want to.”</p><p>Hilda doesn’t miss a beat. “Aw, Claude, I have absolutely no idea who you’re talking about. But thanks, I guess? I absolutely do <em> not </em>owe you one, though.”</p><p>“You wound me, Hilda,” Claude swoons. “I’m hurt. I’m dying.”</p><p>Hilda rolls her eyes. </p><p>“But, you know,” he continues, raising his voice. “I guess you’re right. If there’s really nothing going on between you and In-.” Hilda slaps her hand over his mouth, abruptly cutting him off.</p><p>“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says before removing her hand. </p><p>“You’re blushing.” </p><p>“‘You’re blushing,’” Hilda mocks in an overexaggerated tone. </p><p>“Ooh, good one,” Claude says, eyes widening. “And, you know, you could do a lot worse than Ingrid. She’s very intense and mean, but you know what? So are you.” </p><p>Hilda narrows her eyes at him. “Did she say something to you?”</p><p>“Oh, Hilda.” Claude reaches over, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “She didn’t have to. The girl is an open book. You’re the one that’s thinking too hard.” He pushes his bench back, standing. “I’ll leave you with this advice: get it.” </p><p>He walks off, calling “Love you, Hil,” over his shoulder. She flips him off. </p><p>Ingrid slides into the seat Claude’s just vacated, looking over her shoulder at him as he disappears from sight. “What was that all about?” </p><p>“Oh, uh, you know,” Hilda waves her hand. “Well, you know.” </p><p>Ingrid looks at her. “O-kay.” She digs into her Saghert and Cream. “Hey, I wanted to ask you something.”</p><p>“Shoot.”</p><p>“Or, I guess, not ask. I just wanted to say thanks.”</p><p>“What for?” </p><p>“Claude told me you asked the Professor to switch you two for chore duty this week. We get to work together again. I’m excited.”</p><p>Hilda could fucking kill Claude, honestly. But that can be done later, she tells herself. Later. Instead, she smiles back, sighing internally before saying, “Yep, that’s me. Totally. I definitely did that. That is something that I did.” </p><p>Ingrid gives her a bewildered look, then shakes her head. “Also, Hilda, I wanted to, um, ask you something?”</p><p>“As established earlier, Ingrid. Is this a real question this time?”</p><p>Hilda thinks she could get used to teasing Ingrid, especially when it’s so easy to make her blush and drop her spoon. </p><p>“Yeah- Yes.” Ingrid nods. “I was wondering, um, there’s a traveling restaurant coming from Enbarr next weekend that serves, um, Dagdan cuisine, and I mean, if you aren’t busy or anything, do you want to go together?”</p><p>She’s too cute, Hilda thinks. Much, much too cute. She can’t help teasing more. “Like, as friends?”</p><p>Ingrid’s face falls. “Oh,” she says, and then shrugs and nods. “I mean, yeah, definitely, as friends! As friends. Yes.”</p><p>Hilda grins. “Ingrid, sweetie, I’m just fucking with you. Yes, I would love to go with you. On a date.” </p><p>“Really?” Ingrid covers her cheeks with her hands. “Are you sure?”</p><p>“Hm, actually. Let me think about it for a sec.” Hilda taps her chin with one finger, glancing at the ceiling. She smiles. “Okay, yeah. I’m sure.” </p><p>Ingrid beams, reaching across the table to take Hilda’s hand in hers. She doesn’t say anything, and Hilda loves how cute she looks, eyes wide and shining. </p><p>“You’re so cute,” Hilda says, and then leans over and kisses her cheek. </p><p>Ingrid goes red. </p><p>“There’s more where that came from,” Hilda winks. “But I absolutely refuse to kiss you for the first time in the dining hall. That’s just, ugh. Gross.” </p><p>“Kiss me?” Ingrid stutters. “Or, I mean, yeah. Kissing. We will be doing that. Definitely. I want to kiss you. Yes.”</p><p>Goddess, yeah. She’s cute. And sitting here, watching Ingrid as she digs with renewed vigor into her Saghert and Cream, Hilda doesn’t hate her, actually.</p><p>She doesn’t know if she ever did.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, feel free to check out my pinned tweet on <a href="https://twitter.com/bizzybee429?s=09">twitter</a> and come talk to me on <a href="https://officialferdinand.tumblr.com">tumblr</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>